


A Poorly Chronicled Retelling of the Fifty-third Avatar's Very Reasonable and Safe Journey to Self-Discovery and Elemental Mastery

by dazzletwig



Series: The Adventures of Avatar Kourai and Team U-19 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: All-Japan Youth Training Camp, Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Background hiruhoshi, Bending (Avatar), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, M/M, Order of the White Lotus, Pre-Avatar: The Last Airbender, maybe some angst-adjacent plot, to be beta'd soon, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazzletwig/pseuds/dazzletwig
Summary: Haikyuu's youth camp kids are all slapped together and sent off to careen around the globe, make new friends, and hopefully teach Avatar Kourai some bending. Possibly. Fingers crossed.Will Kiyoomi freeze off Atsumu's face before they even get to firebending? Will Tobio ever say more than three words to anyone, ever? Will Motoya make a cute new fire ferret friend? (yes.)Tune in for an utterly unplanned ATLA AU! Shenanigans and chaotic nonlinear storytelling, or your money back.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: The Adventures of Avatar Kourai and Team U-19 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845172
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter is optional! _I_ think it's funny but gosh is that a hint of bias I detect?
> 
> Airball and most of the SakuAtsu is in chap 2. 
> 
> Reference:  
> Anabara Takaaki: Johzenji coach  
> Washijou Tanji: shiratorizawa senior coach  
> Yamiji Takeyuki: fukurodani coach  
> Nekomata Yasafumi: nekomata coach  
> Nobuteru irihata: siejoh coach  
> Fuki Hibarida: japan olympic men’s volleyball coach

_Southern Air Temple, present day_

“—So I figured, if I can adopt that nasty whip twist of yours into the Crane form, I might be able to increase the range by just a—” Motoya’s cut off by a heavy fur hood to his nose as Kiyoomi suddenly halts.

“Ah—hey! Uh, sorry…” Motoya begins to say before noticing that Kiyoomi has barely flinched away from him—instead, his cousin stands stiff, shoulders locked, head tensely angled to the left and looking towards the corner of the airball arena.

Motoya soon hears a distant chattering drifting in, two voices clearly engaged in a comfortable argument. 

It drops off. Then:

“Omi-omi!” 

Motoya leans over to peer past the bulky furs swathed over Kiyoomi’s body, the obstruction himself having apparently lost all motor function in his limbs. That voice, or maybe, that last call, seems familiar, somehow— 

The next few moments happen in slow motion. Sakusa’s hands are already pulled out, fingers cradling the empty space soon to be filled with a blast of icy mist (painfully familiar to Motoya, thanks to laissez-faire caretakers). Motoya reacts unthinkingly, pulling an arc of pressure from the open space at his right as he sees a person in dull reds and golds stepping towards them.

Or, he would have been stepping towards them, if he weren’t now falling backwards. 

He garbles, “Om—agh! ‘Sa—” Whatever he’s saying is cut off into a choked squeak as the man behind him drags him down by the collar. 

Ah! The pieces click together in Motoya’s mind.

He immediately twists the snake of air at his hip so that it cups the two people in front of him, pushing them to the right while simultaneously deflecting the chilly squall from Kiyoomi harmlessly to the left.

And everything is still.

For a few seconds, anyway, before the red-garbed man (now sprawled unflatteringly on the ground) coughs a few times, and says,

“Man, yer always so _chilly_ , Omi-omi!”

The man behind him lets go of his collar and sighs, straightening up and shaking his airbent grey hair back into place. Kiyoomi and Motoya walk over, and the three of them look down at a tousled blond nest capping a smug, but slightly pained, face.

The man on the ground gets up unsteadily, brushing off his clothes. His face cracks a little under the pressure of the awkward silence slowly descending upon them. 

Motoya _could_ cut off the silence and introduce himself brightly. He usually does, but today he lets himself enjoy the emotions twisting across Kiyoomi’s face. 

“Osamu,” Kiyoomi finally mutters, nodding minutely at the grey-haired man. “ _Atsumu_ ,” he practically spits out, venom dripping from the fangs that don’t grow behind his lips (but that people have no trouble believing in anyway).

Motoya beams.

* * *

_A calm evening, about a year ago_

Takaaki leans back in his seat, groaning as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Fine. So… we can’t go with the Jins’ choice because of their ongoing feud with the Shui Jing clan.”

“Correct,” Itettsu mutters, scratching something off a hideously complex chart with a battered inkbrush.

“We can’t pick the recommendation from the Tus because of their recent scandal.”

“With the trade misdealings at the port of Jiao Shi Le.” Another mutter, another _swoosh_ as a beautifully calligraphed name is unceremoniously blacked out.

“What about… the School of Hard Rocks in the capital?”

This earns him a pair of matching disparaging squints from both Ukais, senior and junior. Ikkei scoffs, digging his heel into the ground. A block of earth jerks out of the gazebo’s flooring, precisely knocking the metal seal marked “ _Knock some Sense! Give us your Cents!_ ” into the air and off into the gardens behind them.

“Fine, fine, even I know that they’re scammy at best and hazardous at worst. Right. Uh…” Takaaki rubs at his eyelids again, praying that they can finish this meeting before the sunlight finally abandons them. He wasn’t excited to continue this paperwork under moonlight. “Anyone new from Omashu? It’d be great to have someone who studied with the badgermoles.”

“Nothing since the cauliflower incident,” Yasafumi muses thoughtfully, a lick of flame warming up his tea to scalding as he sips it.

Takaaki chooses not to inquire further.

“We’re getting nowhere. The Avatar’s turning sixteen in, what, just under a year? And thanks to the—” Takaaki catches the curse in his throat, forcing a calm exhale before continuing, “— _difficult_ families involved, we’ve selected the waterbending master… _”_

“Eh,” Nobuteru cuts in. “He’s kind of a sexist old coot of a rat-fly, though.”

“... alright, fine,” ‘ _You couldn’t have said that earlier?’_ Takaaki _doesn’t_ cry out. “We’ve selected a grand total of… zero. Zero elemental masters of three.” Takaaki suppresses the high-pitched noise of frustration building in his throat. “Is someone going to tell me the Avatar actually hasn’t learned airbending, after all, and that we need to find a master for that, too?” He can hear the desperation edging in on his voice, but he doesn’t care.

“Still,” a curt voice carries over softly, but firmly. Takaaki immediately straightens up and turns around. Tanji is flipping through a sheaf of papers, scanning the profiles of firebending masters. “It’s not just the Earth Kingdom’s ridiculous bourgeoisie causing us headache. These damned censored profiles from the Fire Nation’s imbecile military are going to be even worse to work with.”

Takaaki casts a quick glance at the Ukais. The older earthbender puffs out a snort of laughter, while the younger looks distinctly more uncomfortable. Takaaki sympathizes completely. Tanji was a fair man at the end of the day, but that didn’t soften any of his bluntness.

“Well, actually—” Ittetsu mumbles, looking almost lost in his arms full of scrolls. He immediately drops off when he realizes everyone is listening to him. When Tanji makes an impatient hand gesture, he stumbles forward. 

“Uh—yes, well, there was apparently a system, of sorts, back in the day. Back, uh, several hundred years ago, so maybe one or two full cycles in the past? There was a different tournament-based selection process, targeted towards young prodigies. For the, uh, the selection of the bending masters to teach the avatar.”

“That _would_ resolve the inherent classism that arises within the Earth Kingdom’s referral process,” muses Takeyuki, twirling the tasseled ends of his necklace in a small breeze circling from his fingertips.

Takaaki’s eyes twitch, but nobody around the table reacts more than this. Damned air nomads spending so much time in chi swamps that they forget what garbage hot air comes out of their mouths—

He breathes in. Stay calm.

It’s fine. He’s newly brought in to the White Lotus. They told him to lead the selection of masters, a rather inconceivable burden for a new initiate, and oh, you’ll do excellently, Takaaki, you were top of your class at the Royal Academy— 

No, stay calm. He can handle this. 

He finally exhales and massages his temples. “Right. We can go over the records later. Uh, Ittetsu, what’s the rough breakdown of the tournament system?”

Ittetsu hums. “Anyone who passes a basic challenge—a standard test of bending ability—can be entered into the tournament. Winner of each general region gets checked over by us, and… that’s it.”

“That’s it? How are we going to hold a tournament for every hopeful teacher?”

“Oh, well, the notes here seem to imply that there are only so many young prodigies in the world. So, not that many eligible participants exist in the first place.” Ittetsu squints, then widens his eyes in surprise.

Takaaki feels a growing sense of unease. “... How young, exactly?”

Ittetsu shrugs weakly. “... Anyone younger than the avatar himself?”

Takaaki gives in and crashes his forehead against the table.

* * *

_Bull-whale's Arena, Northern Water Tribe, a few months before present day_

“I’m sick.”

“No, you’re really not.”

Kiyoomi coughs into the fur-lined cowl. 

Tsukasa scoffs and rolls his eyes, loosely aiming to cuff Kiyoomi in the head. Kiyoomi dodges neatly. “Stop it. You’re in peak health,” Tsukasa continues, frowning at a speck of dirt on his own armor. He flicks it off.

“Anyway, you’re up next. I think they only let me in because the girl who’s supposed to call you up is scared of you, man.” 

Kiyoomi glowers. Tsukasa crosses his arms across his chest and leans his weight on one hip.

Kiyoomi relents with a sigh, pulling off the heavy top layer of his (overdone, according to Tsukasa, but who’s asking) outfit and stepping out of the tent.

Minutes later, he steps back in, running a blast of frosty mist over his face to clear off the sweat on his forehead as Tsukasa winces. 

“Man, remind me not to get on your bad side. At least not without my spear.”

Kiyoomi shrugs and pulls on his overcoat again. He tugs the cowl over his curls, down onto his face, and if his scowl has the smallest upturn at the edges, there is certainly nobody to see it.

* * *

_The Secret Fighting Pit that Definitely Doesn't Exist Under the Omashu Royal Palace, also a few months before present day_

Tobio bows to the woman in front of him. His ankle is sore, there’s a slight ringing in his ear, and his nose is clogged with dust. She looks to be in the same condition, if not worse, but her back is straight as she bows even as the referees around them rush in to help.

He glances to the towering stands of spectators. 

On a nearby green podium, decorated with glittering fluorescent minerals, he sees several familiar figures clapping. Their faces are lit up eerily by the glowing stones, but Tobio can feel their exuberance from the center of the pit where he stands. 

Suga cheers unabashedly, waving a black silk scarf with the Kageyama family crest emblazoned on it, and Daichi is shouting with a fist in the air. Next to them, Master Ukai—Keishin, Tobio reminds himself—is beaming as he applauds heartily.

And at the end of the line, Miwa claps solemnly, expensive silks drifting about her as elegantly as ever. Pride glitters in her eyes as she smiles—a real smile, a crinkly, toothy grin from their childhood days, from back before she stepped into their parents’ shoes to take over the family trade at a tender age.

Tobio pinches his lips and cheers as he grasps the green victor’s silk, swinging it in the air.

* * *

_On a Boat Somewhere Near the Serpent's Pass, Maybe, a month before present day_

“Finally decide to jump in, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu leans back away from the metal railing of the boat.

“Well, if I did, then you’ll finally hafta per’tend to be me fer a change,” Atsumu retorts. Osamu settles in next to him on the boat as they lean over, watching the white seafoam peel away from the hull. “They’re expecting Atsumu, child prodigy, victor of the Master’s Tournament, firebender extraordinaire, to teach _the_ avatar how ta shooty-shooty floosh bam,” Atsumu lilts, accompanying his words with sparks as he flutters his fingertips.

Osamu rolls his eyes. Atsumu doesn’t need to look to know he does, but he glances at his brother, anyways. 

Osamu huffs out a sigh against the cold railing. “Firebendin’s the last one he’s gonna get to, right?”

Atsumu shrugs. 

“He’s the avatar, sum kinda’ genius, prob’ly. Won’t take years n’ years like _yer_ slow ass did ta pick up how ta throw pebbles around.”

They’re on a metal ship, so it’s not possible for any rocks could come flying towards Atsumu’s head. But Osamu doesn’t even budge as he frowns into the water and lets out a hum. 

Atsumu feels a dull heaviness creeping over his chest, so he does what he always does and body-checks his twin. They tumble around briefly, almost falling down the stairs, before they return to their cabins to “go try some of that dirty leaf juice ya’ve been hoardin’ on this tour, ‘Samu.”

* * *

_Air Initiates' Dorms, Southern Air Temple, yesterday, because the Avatar procrastinates_

Kourai, Sachirou, and Motoya stand in front of what can only be called an explosion of fabrics.

“Kourai…” Sachirou begins, before Kourai shushes him by reaching up to flatten his mouth with his fingers.

“No, he’s right, Kourai,” Motoya continues. “We’re literally taught to shed worldly connections. We have… basically one outfit. All the time. Where did you even get all this?” Motoya palms a gust of wind under the top layer of cloth, apparently trainees’ robes from… five years ago? Maybe? Kourai doesn’t remember.

A whistling screech pierces the air as a white-and-grey blur launches from the pile onto Kourai’s head.

“Ah, Adloo, hello there!” Sachirou coos over the mocking-tern, which has now flapped its way onto his brown curls. It’s chirping sweetly, the stars scattered across its plumage gleaming softly. 

“Hmph,” Kourai ~~pouts~~ declares in a very manly way, arms folded over his chest. “She likes you better anyways, so you should come, too. To take care of her.”

“Even you don’t need my help to take care of the hardiest ocean-flying species.” Sachirou chuckles as he transfers the indignant bird into his arms. “And, you’ve already got your tattoos, so it’s not like I could teach you anything. Besides, Motoya’s coming with you! Albeit at a very… specific request from Master Tsukasa of the northern water tribe.”

“You remember Kiyoomi; you understand!” Motoya points out cheerfully. “And if you don’t, you sure will in the first five minutes of your first waterbending lesson!”

“And frankly, you could probably work on redirecting forms. It’s Motoya’s specialty, so you’re lucky to train with him,” Sachirou adds. Adloo is practically purring as he strokes the feathers at the base of her neck.

Kourai groans, and returns to packing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me on twitter! [@dazzletwig](https://twitter.com/DazzleTwig)
> 
> Not sure how much sense it makes, but only Earth Kingdom citizens canonically have last names in ATLA, so that's what we're goin' with.
> 
> I'm not a prolific writer, but this is definitely the least prepared I've ever gone in with a fic. As of posting the first chapter... I have nothing else written. Just vague ideas and almost-materialized half-backstories. But the idea is snippets and humour in orderless, modular bites! So we'll see where this goes -- I can say with 68% confidence that I will post at least one more chapter!
> 
> Reference:  
> Anabara Takaaki: Johzenji coach  
> Washijou Tanji: shiratorizawa senior coach  
> Yamiji Takeyuki: fukurodani coach  
> Nekomata Yasafumi: nekomata coach  
> Nobuteru irihata: siejoh coach  
> Fuki Hibarida: japan olympic men’s volleyball coach


	2. Airball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My imagining of the [airball scene](https://twitter.com/DazzleTwig/status/1286776257980620801?s=19) (artwork)
> 
> After I reread Chapter 1, I do see that it doesn't seem complete on its own at all. I wanted it to be not very shippy and just create an atmosphere/introduce characters -- but alas, alack. I want to keep works short/OTP in the future. I hope to tell the other stories in a nonlinear way and cobble it together into one ATLA series!
> 
> \---
> 
>   * [Airball](https://avatar.fandom.com/wiki/Airball) — that sport that Aang and sokka play for a hot 2 seconds in one of the very first few episodes. The field is all tall wooden poles, and you have to hop around on top and bounce the ball between them into spinning goals on the ends of the court.
>   * Ittetsu Takeda — karasuno head coach
>   * Takaaki Anabara — johzenji coach, was there at first years training camp in shiratorizawa
>   * Madoka Yachi — Hitoka Yachi’s intimidating design mom
>   * Norimune Korosu — Inarizaki coach
>   * In the traditional ATLA setting, men lived in the Northern/Southern air temples, and women in the eastern/western. They’re raised by the community, so there’s no real notion of “parents” when the whole community is one big family.
> 


The White Lotus. Like… an old people gambling club?

Kourai probably should have paid a bit more attention in history class.

But there are two men and two women seated on the cushions on the platform, waiting for him as he kneels in the center of the room. His cushion, however soft and inviting, is very intimidatingly spotlit by a single beam of sunlight through the bamboo canopy above them.

“Avatar Kourai,” the man on the left says gently as he stands up. He has curly black hair and a pair of comically large spectacles on his nose. “My name is Ittetsu, of the Southern Water Tribe. We are representatives of the White Lotus, and have been tasked with sending you off with your chosen elemental teachers.”

The man next to him speaks briskly and efficiently. “Takaaki, Fire Nation. Due to some… circumstances, we have chosen you a cohort of teachers around your age. Rest assured, they are masters in their own right,” he continues, adjusting his (much smaller) spectacles as he speaks. 

Hm. Spectacles certainly seem annoying.

“You will be able to travel with them as you master the elements,” the woman next in line adds cooly. “We expect you to build and preserve these relationships for years to come.” Her hair is a luxurious brown, curling over her shoulders. Unlike the masters surrounding her, she wears glittering green jewellery with her White Lotus robes, and Kourai catches a glimpse of sharp, perfectly-painted nails. Man, she’s somehow… scary.

Kourai shakes that off. He’s the avatar! He’s not scared of anyone or anything.

“Well, at least maybe be friendly with each other,” Ittetsu adds with the hint of a nervous laugh, speaking to the woman. “You sound very threatening, Lady Madoka.”

The definitely-not-scary-nope-not-at-all Lady Madoka casts a glance towards her colleague but merely turns her gaze back towards Kourai. He feels a little bit like she’s staring him down to his bones.

The woman on the very end, light hair bound away from her face in the traditional Air Nomad style, gives him a soft smile. The dark lining of her eyes crinkle warmly.

“You may remember me from your tattoo ceremony,” she says. 

Was she there? 

Her voice was somehow familiar, so maybe, but…

“We are proud of your mastery of airbending. It is not often that someone so young is marked,” she continues. “It is with great honour that we send you off to study water, earth, and fire, so that you may be the world’s keystone of balance and our bridge to the spirit world.”

Something about her really nags at the back of Kourai’s mind. Has he forgotten something important? 

Just as he’s squinting at her and about to ask, a crash from the left startles him.

A pile of multicoloured clothes and hair lie in a heap on top of a broken piece of bamboo lattice, once part of the wall of this chamber.

Behind them, a dark spirit looms forward. 

Then, it looks disdainfully at the pile. “I told you so,” it says.

“Don’t be such a downer, Kiyoomi!” Motoya returns cheerfully as he appears from the middle of the pile.

“Ow—get yer foot off me, ‘Samu.”

“I will, when yer elbow’s outta my face—”

A whoosh of wind, and the pile finds itself immediately disentangled, everyone knocked askew but finally separate. They get themselves to their feet, Sachirou the last among them and the most sheepish. 

The light-haired woman lowers her hand and smiles brightly.

“Speak of the devil. The avatar’s masters arrive. Well! It seems like we’re off to a good start on the relationship front!” She turns to the dishevelled crew of… bending masters? Them? “All chummy with each other, are you?”

“Absolutely!” Motoya confirms with a thumbs-up.

“Excellent,” the woman responds before anyone can interrupt. “There are actually quite a few things we need to prepare for your journey, Avatar Kourai. So, we recommend that you take your new teachers and show them around the Southern Air Temple a bit, hm? Take the opportunity to get to know each other!”

“We’ve already seen the temple,” the dark-haired boy says. “Master Atsumu got bored, so we started looking for other things to do.”

“Master? It makes ya sound like some kinda stuffy servant, there, Tobio,” another begins to say as he coughs, reddening in the presence of the elders.

“He ain’t the one with th’ ego big enough to preen at bein’ called Master ‘Tsumu.”

“Oh, shut up—”

The airbender lady coughs from the platform. “Well. Perhaps you can find something else to do before dinnertime, then?” Her smile is gentle, but it now carries the sort of authority that Kourai’s airbending masters did when he was caught stealing whipped cakes from the kitchens. “Avatar Kourai?”

Kourai jumps to his feet. “Yes—uh—yes ma’am. C’mon, let’s go,” he says as he shuttles the group out of the room.

“What have you got in store for us, Avatar Kourai?” Sachirou has the gall to look smug. Something about the way he says his new title is embarrassing, and Kourai turns to hide the heat in his cheeks.

“You were the one caught eavesdropping on the White Lotus elders!” Kourai reminds him.

“I was the one who told you who the White Lotus are, because you somehow forgot.”

Kourai stutters to a halt and just huffs in frustration instead. But onto the task at hand.

If there’s one thing Kourai loved more than airbending—well, maybe tending to the air bison with Sachirou, but—more than airbending and air bison, then. 

“How about airball?”

* * *

“We could take the airbenders in a 3v3,” Tobio says sullenly.

Or, maybe not sullenly, but it’s not like Atsumu can tell. He’s just met the guy, but he hasn’t seen his face change yet, so…

“Well, hold on,” Sachirou interrupts Kourai’s eager enthusiasm, blocking the shorter airbender before he can scramble up the poles of the airball field. “It might be safer if we split up differently.”

“I want to challenge the avatar, though,” Tobio says… stubbornly? Yeah, that works, Atsumu decides with a nod to himself. Kiyoomi gives him a suspicious glance.

“Hm, Mr. Normal twin—” Motoya starts.

“Osamu,” the prick provides.

“Jerk,” Atsumu retorts.

“Osamu, then. You’re an earthbender, right?” 

“Barely,” Atsumu scoffs. 

Osamu doesn’t even address this, levelling his half-lidded glance to Motoya, then the airball field.

“Well, let’s work with that,” Motoya says agreeably.

Moments later, Atsumu finds himself precariously perched on a wooden pole in front of a brightly painted goal ring. 

He leans back to tap it. The centre panel whirls around on what must be a ridiculously smooth axis. As Atsumu leans to the side a bit to get a better look, he feels the pole sway beneath him.

Bleeding hog monkeys, of course the monks wouldn’t make the poles stable. Atsumu levels himself with several embarrassingly choky bursts of flame from his palms, pushing himself upright again. 

“Alri-ight, here you go,” Sachirou huffs as he deposits Tobio on a nearby pole. Tobio stumbles a few times before uneasily balancing himself. 

“Don’t you look terrified,” Atsumu comments, ignoring his own hiccup as he momentarily loses his balance himself.

Tobio’s face looks maybe a bit more constipated than before as he levitates up a few fist-sized rocks to circle around his waist. Sachirou tosses Tobio a harness that he quickly ties onto his torso and hooks onto a piton in a pole.

Speaking of being out of one’s element—

“Hey, ‘Samu!” Atsumu shouts, waving in the air. He even attempts a small hop which ends up launching him, oops, too high—but he propels himself down with small daggers of flame in his hands. No harness? No problem! He sticks the landing and resists the urge to fist pump, opting instead to smile smugly across the field.

Atsumu snickers as the gesture Osamu is making is interrupted when Kourai lands between Osamu and Kiyoomi, unaware that the blast of air almost topples his teammates. Their harnesses flutter in the wind, but they right themselves without falling down.

A piercingly loud whistle shrills from above them. “All right, guys,” Motoya calls before he lands delicately on a pole in the center. He pulls out a wicker ball and two bamboo tablets from under his airbender’s smock. 

“There are actual rules for multi-bender airball, but,” He tosses the two tablets to the side, and they disappear between the poles. “Whatever, right? We can just put a stone in the ball for the rockheads and figure it out from there.” He swings the wicker ball above him, a block of red clay bouncing inside.

Atsumu squints. “Wait—”

“Yeah, I’m not about to light the ball on fire. So just like, bat it away if it gets near the goal or something,” Motoya answers. He immediately whirls around to face the other goalpost, where Kiyoomi is standing in the lightest outfit Atsumu has seen him in so far. He’s still clad head-to-toe and wrist-to-ankle in water tribe blues, though.

“And mountain reeds are pretty thin, so I don’t want to see the ball melted, or freeze-dry-shattered, or whatever else you’re thinking about. Just hit it, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi has shed his cowl for the game, and Atsumu kind of wishes he were close enough to see his face—to mock the snippety waterbender’s discomfort, of course, no other reasons.

… Is his neck really that pale? He’s far away, so Atsumu can’t see if there’s a necklace nestled above his collar, or anything.

Wait, Suna had said that the Northern Water Tribe was really traditional. So would a man even wear a necklace if he was engaged—

Atsumu feels a judging glance from the corner of his eye. 

Osamu, that jerk. Atsumu immediately pulls his eyelid down and makes a face at Osamu, who scoffs and remakes the rude gesture with both hands. Atsumu is just musing on the costs and benefits of turning around to point his butt as his twin when the whistle tweets again from above.

Time to play.

* * *

“My ball!” Kourai shouts.

The wicker ball pings between the poles of the airball field, whizzing towards Kiyoomi from the right. A quick glance and—Kourai is a fair way off to the left.

Is he expecting the ball to bounce its way away from the goal? He could very well have miscalculated. And today, Kiyoomi’s the goalkeeper.

Kiyoomi makes the decision in a split second.

“Hey!” Kourai shouts as a paddle of ice breaks the ball’s trajectory, hitting it up into the air. Osamu is still a little unstable, but he manages to send a rock towards the ball.

Either by miraculous aim, or by sheer luck (and Kiyoomi knows which he’d bet on), the ball careens towards Atsumu at the opposite goal. Atsumu barely squeaks out a “Wait!” as he kicks the ball away, into the ground, and flails comically to get his balance back.

Motoya lets out a shrill whistle from his air scooter above. “Out of bounds! Point to team Kourai!”

Osamu lets out a soft chuckle. Across the field, Atsumu whips his glare towards Osamu. He couldn’t have possibly heard that from that distance. Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. 

“HEY! MR. ICE GUY!” Kourai shouts, suddenly right by his ear. Kiyoomi twitches at the volume and turns towards the painfully, painfully loud and small man that would be the avatar. 

Spirits, maybe he shouldn’t have signed up for this job, after all.

“What,” he mutters. 

Kourai stands across two different poles, comfortably balanced on his toes. He huffs with his arms across his chest.

“You didn’t trust my call! I said it was my ball. It would have bounced back to me instead of hitting the goal.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I’m the goalkeeper. It’s literally my job to hit the ball away.” 

Kourai humphs. “Yeah, but I know what I’m doing. Trust my calls!” 

Kiyoomi levels him a dispassionate glance, and Kourai holds it for a while before he huffs and jumps off back into starting position.

“Ball to Kiyoomi!” calls Motoya, half a second before the wicker ball whips towards him. It’s only his reaction time, honed from years of dealing with Motoya the Menace, that allows him to shoot a spear of ice outwards and impale the ball before it hurtles into his stomach.

Motoya has already turned away, but Kiyoomi would bet money that the shit-eating grin on his face has spread fully from ear to ear by now.

He sighs as he removes the ball, throwing it into the air. He pushes his hands together, melding the ice into a paddle, and—WHACK.

He sends the ball across the field with a satisfying hit. Tobio lunges towards it but nearly falls off the pole in the process. Sachirou jumps to catch him and the two tumble across the field, leaving only the goalkeeper to watch the ball.

Atsumu whips his hands in an arc with a yell as the ball shoots towards him. It looks like a firebending form, a reaction or a block made of flame. 

Kiyoomi barely begins to wonder what the penalty will be for burning the ball to a crisp when he sees the crescent of fire spin out, mesmerizing, from Atsumu’s extended arms.

It’s bright. It’s almost… beautiful—

—before Atsumu falters, slamming his hands down awkwardly mid-form. The flame chokes itself out, and Atsumu totters off the pole with a yell.

The idiot never tethered himself to the goalpost, Kiyoomi realizes.

“‘Tsumu—” Osamu barely calls out before Motoya has streaked across, catching Atsumu up like a wet cat by his collar just as he’s almost halfway to being a firebender pancake at the base of the poles.

Kiyoomi’s heart thumps loudly in the silence.

Motoya deposits Atsumu in front of the goal again before bounding up to centre field, glancing critically at both teams.

“The HELL, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu yells deafeningly.

“What, gerroff my back, ya pansy,” Even from this distance, Kiyoomi can hear the rapid breathing behind Atsumu’s shouting. 

“Well. Just when you get used to the game is when you get the most reckless, huh,” Motoya says from above Kiyoomi. “Let’s get down off the field.”

Even Kourai is quiet, not complaining about the abrupt end to the game. He looks back at Osamu and Kiyoomi. “Good game, guys. Need my help getting down?”

Osamu’s shaking his head, already sliding down the wooden pillar. Kiyoomi’s about to decline when he feels a hand carefully grab the back of his shirt without touching skin, and before he knows it he’s landing on the ground, feet cushioned by a pillow of air. 

Motoya steps away from behind him. Kiyoomi nods quietly in thanks. 

“Can’t win if—I burn the ball—yeah?” Atsumu is already on the ground with Osamu, the picture of brash confidence. The nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead indicates otherwise.

Osamu cuffs Atsumu in the back of his head. “Can’t win if ya snap yer neck, yeah?” he bites, mocking Atsumu’s tone. “Oh, ‘Samu, don’t worry, I don’t need a harness, I can practically fly ‘coz firebendin’s so cool and practical and safe.”

Osamu stops his tirade to pant. The rest of the group stands off to the side, watching as the twins’ glares sear into each other. Finally, Atsumu turns away and stomps towards the others, pushing past them. 

He meets Kiyoomi’s eyes for one second and—

The metaphor of a burning glare has never felt so real. Atsumu’s eyes are liquid flame as he shoves past Kourai and marches away.

After a few moments, Sachirou’s voice breaks the awkwardly long-lived silence. “Well, maybe dinner, now. Let’s go to the mess hall, then.”

* * *

Kiyoomi’s been thinking about something.

Backing up for a second to explain—Motoya can say with relative confidence that he is probably Kiyoomi’s best friend. He hasn’t really seen any evidence to the contrary, and while it’s true that they spent at most a few months a year together, Motoya’s experiences in the Northern Water Tribe… only support this statement. Kiyoomi didn't exactly spend his free time endearing himself to people.

Anyway, what he’s trying to say is that he can read the prickly guy as well as anyone. Probably.

So the silence would be indistinguishable from any of Kiyoomi’s other moods to the untrained eye, but Motoya thinks he can sense something of a different flavour to it right now. 

Or, it could just be his distaste for the Air Nomads’ vegetarian food? Well, it was certainly different from the meat-based stews and jerkies they liked to eat back north, that’s for sure. Scrounging for vegetarian meals in the Northern Water Tribe was an adventure.

“This is really good,” Osamu said after chewing carefully, apparently concerned with minding his manners. “Issit some kinda rice cake?” 

“It’s made of wheat flour,” Sachirou offers amicably, almost finished with his own serving. “We steam the buns, and they come with various types of fillings.” 

Osamu nods, apparently fascinated with the cuisine and absolutely not acknowledging the sulking aura coming off his brother next to him.

But back to the matter at hand. Motoya would put money on Kiyoomi’s current mood being “pensieve,” or maybe “calculating.” What he’s thinking about is a harder question to answer, but it likely has to do with the firebending twin, given Kiyoomi’s furtive glances in that direction.

Very interesting.

Motoya decides to nudge things along a little bit. 

“Hey, Osamu, Tobio.”

Atsumu’s eyes twitch towards Motoya. Motoya does his best to ignore him and sends Osamu and Tobio one of his most pleasant smiles.

Tobio flinches and definitely looks a little unnerved at that. Uh, whoops? 

Komori turns down the intensity of his grin a bit before continuing, “So, I was thinking: before we retire for the night, I could show you guys the red clay cliffside. I’ve heard it’s a really interesting material to practice earthbending on. What do you say?”

Tobio’s eyes definitely light up at that, and Osamu glances at his brother before hesitantly agreeing.

On the other side of the table, Sachirou and Kourai seem to be engrossed in their own conversation about air bison. Kourai would probably forget entirely about his guests in order to go tend to the bison with Sachirou, and Sachirou would probably be more than happy to indulge.

Komori really wants to sigh out loud. Those two… are another problem for another day.

And so, conveniently, there are only two left unaccounted for.

“Kiyoomi, you’re familiar enough with the temple, right? Why don’t you show Atsumu back so he doesn’t get lost? The walkways look very different at night.”

Kiyoomi’s glaring daggers at Motoya. No, wait, not daggers—more like… bamboo skewers? Maybe even cork pellets. The crease between his eyebrows is at least one third shallower than usual.

Well! Looks like he was right, then. Motoya doesn’t even bother hiding his triumphant smile as he clears the table and heads off with Tobio and Osamu, winking at Kiyoomi as he leaves the room.

* * *

“Miya.”

That’s weird. Atsumu could have sworn that he heard someone call out his last name. But who would have a stick shoved so far up their ass that they would do that?

“Miya, I’m talking to you.”

Especially when he literally has a twin brother. And he’s not some brat kid from a posh private school or anything, like Tobio probably was. 

“Miya, you’re heading the wrong way.”

No, he takes it back. That was definitely unfair to Tobio. The Kageyamas are a wealthy family, but… even Atsumu knows about the tragic earthquake that left only the older sister in charge of a crumbling business empire. The irony cut deep into families across the entire kingdom. Anyways, Tobio seems like a good kid.

“Miya,” that imaginary voice calls, suddenly very much right in his ear and probably, definitely attached to the hand that’s gripping his shoulder like a vice and ouch it’s spinning him around—

Atsumu finds himself frozen in front of two pitch-dark, pupil-less eyes. Is that possible? And—oh wow, are those freckles? They’re so light that they’re barely visible even on such pale skin. The bridge of his nose is a little chapped from constantly wearing the cowl, but Kiyoomi’s not wearing it now and holy turtle ducks Atsumu is inches away from Kiyoomi’s face—

Kiyoomi backs off with a scowl.

“Maybe I should have let you keep walking.”

“Wha?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow and he indicates the space behind Atsumu with his chin. Atsumu looks down, and—ah yes, of course. Air nomad architecture. He’s at a dead end, on a platform with no railings. The drop is steeper than vertical. 

Atsumu feels the blood drain from his face. He’d rather Kiyoomi not see him in this state, but it’s better than giving Osamu blackmail fuel—

—Osamu, who he isn’t talking to right now.

Atsumu sighs and grumbles to Kiyoomi, “I’m lost. Where are the dorms.”

Kiyoomi glances at him critically before walking off. Does he always do that? Probably. Jeez, another nerd, and Atsumu will be stuck with this guy for what? Ten years? 

How long could it possibly take the avatar to learn three elements? Firebending is last, though, and technically Kiyoomi doesn’t really have to stay for all of them.

Well, that…that’s fine. Of course it’s fine! Atsumu doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that firebending is last. He doesn’t care that they’ll all peel away one by one until it’s just him and the avatar and maybe Motoya left, and you know, those two were raised together so Atsumu will probably only be relevant when it’s time for firebending lessons. And then after it’s all done he’s going to end up going home to… Master Norimune? But he definitely won’t be a kid anymore, so he doesn't know if his old teacher would take him back. Mom, maybe? He was originally going to keep travelling the world with Osamu…

But, no. That jerk gave up competitive bending so he can open up a tea shop.

“Miya.”

Atsumu glances up. 

Kiyoomi looks at him briefly before facing forwards again. His hair and eyes reflect the setting sun softly, almost glowing in the light.

“How terrifying. You’re actually quiet, for once.” Kiyoomi comments, still not making eye contact.

“Shut up, Omi-Omi. I talk when I wanna.”

“You certainly want to,” Kiyoomi enunciates crisply, “quite often. And don’t call me that.”

“I will when ya call me Atsumu, like any normal person.”

Kiyoomi just scrunches his nose.

The two of them walk in silence a bit more before Kiyoomi stops in front of a wall. 

“What’s this. I’m not ‘xactly in the mood for ancient temple paintin’s t’night, Omi.”

Kiyoomi seems to be searching the wall for something, body perfectly still until—

Snap— Quick as a wink, his wrists twist in an impossible way and the water at his hip pouch whips out and hits one of the spiral symbols at the top of the wall. 

Atsumu stares in shock as the totem spins around, and a small doorway creaks open in the previously mundane wall.

“Gross,” he can’t help but say. He peeks down at Kiyoomi’s hip. He had pulled the water back into the pouch before Atsumu could even blink. And what was with those wrists?

Kiyoomi glares at him.

Atsumu can feel the judgement. “It was a compliment!” he recovers, waving his hands in front of his face. 

Kiyoomi finishes off the glare with a garnish of disdain, turning his head towards the tunnel.

“This is a shortcut to our dorms. Motoya and I discovered this when we were twelve.” He makes no move to step inside.

“Uh… thanks. For showin’ it 't me," Atsumu mumbles uneasily.

Again, Kiyoomi stares at him. Does the guy even speak? Or does he just stare most people into submission?

Well, the latter seems incredibly likely, actually, but Atsumu chooses not to dwell on that.

Finally, Kiyoomi makes an impatient gesture accompanied by a disparaging face. 

Atsumu frowns, mesmerized by the flickering motion Sakusa is making with his hands, until—Oh. 

Atsumu conjures a burning ball of flame in his hand, lighting up the whole tunnel.

Kiyoomi nods. Approvingly, even, Atsumu thinks.

They walk in silence a little more, until,

"You should wear a tether the next time we play."

Atsumu looks over, bewildered into a halt. "What? Like airball? Man, ya sound like 'Samu." But he considers it and hums. "I might, though. I'm working on the whole fire-propulsion-thing. When I figure out flyin' fer real, I'll be as mobile as the airbenders."

"Doubtful."

"Ya don't believe me, huh? Stick around and see fer yerself. That and my beautiful face and sparklin' personality," he smirks, "are just a few ‘f th’ reasons t' stay with th' group even after Kourai finishes waterbendin'."

Kiyoomi mumbles something that Atsumu doesn't catch.

"What?"

"Nevermind," Kiyoomi grates out, before adding, "And of course I'm staying until Kourai learns all four elements. I'd assume Tobio is, too."

Atsumu pauses. Well, that's good news. Probably.

"Great, glad t' know yer not abandonin' me with th'monks. Man, how're they so hyper when they don't even eat meat?"

"Tell me about it," Kiyoomi says under the cowl, and Atsumu thinks maybe he saw a hint of a smile in the flickering firelight. 

He allows himself a wide, tooth-bearing grin. He can't believe his luck—Kiyoomi is talking with him and showing him a secret tunnel. More impressively, he just agreed with something Atsumu said.

When they finally exit the tunnel, Atsumu recognizes their dorm wing right across the tunnel. Kiyoomi seals the exit as quickly as he had opened it before quietly splitting off into his own rooms. But before he steps out of earshot, he turns around to meet Atsumu’s eye.

“I got five direct goals today. You got three.” Kiyoomi definitely does smirk at this, and Atsumu can’t look away from his mouth. “I won’t lose next time, either.” 

And he lets out a small “heh” out before stepping out of sight.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad day, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, it's so easy to get carried away with worldbuilding. I wanted to do more vignette-style shorter works, but this was fun, too. My ultimate goal is probably to stick with this series long enough that I eventually find my way to iwaoi. They're so far back in the queue, but I'm really excited about my atla headcanon for them. With this chapter we are far more into sakuatsu territory, but I have stubs for hiruhoshi (and more sakuatsu, as well as most other popular haikyuu ships lol) that I hope to publish soon!
> 
> visit me on twt pls [@dazzletwig](https://twitter.com/DazzleTwig)
> 
> \---
> 
>   * [Airball](https://avatar.fandom.com/wiki/Airball) — that sport that Aang and sokka play for a hot 2 seconds in one of the very first few episodes. The field is all tall wooden poles, and you have to hop around on top and bounce the ball between them into spinning goals on the ends of the court.
>   * Ittetsu Takeda — karasuno head coach
>   * Takaaki Anabara — johzenji coach, was there at first years training camp in shiratorizawa
>   * Madoka Yachi — Hitoka Yachi’s intimidating design mom
>   * Norimune Korosu — Inarizaki coach
>   * In the traditional ATLA setting, men lived in the Northern/Southern air temples, and women in the eastern/western. They’re raised by the community, so there’s no real notion of “parents” when the whole community is one big family.
> 



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